


The Finngálkin

by Elo



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Iceland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elo/pseuds/Elo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helen and John go on a mission in Iceland but not everything goes according to plan...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Finngálkin

**Author's Note:**

> This is a John/Helen story that took me almost one year to write.  
> I'm French and so not a native speaker, and I wanted to get this right. Each word was carefully thought up and it was not easy, considering English is not my mother tongue.
> 
> I really want to thank my AMAZING beta reader here, ellymelly, who did a freaking incredible job and gave this story the "lightness" it was missing. All remaining mistakes are mine. Also, thank you Mary, your support means a great deal to me.
> 
> I hope you'll like it, please please please drop a few words at the end! THANK YOU! :)

The cries of the sea fowls were deafening in a landscape deserted by humans. The birds, hundreds of them, circled in the air or dropped onto the surface of the sea in quest of fish. Others were simply settled on some rocks, feeding their young or ruffling up their feathers. The Greenland Sea below was hardly disturbed by the cold mild wind blowing from the north and brushing the five hundred meter cliff that majestically towered above the water.

 

The sea fowls went undisturbed for a few minutes more until several of them fled precipitously from the topmost part of the cliff, frightened by a sudden shift in the air. And then, as if from nowhere, two people suddenly appeared on the ledge with a distinct crackle. A red cloud of electricity – its tendrils sparking against the grey sky – swirled around the pair for a moment then evaporated leaving the man and woman alone on the bluff.

 

The woman, whose back was to the steep slope, instinctively threw a glance behind her. She turned again to her companion and he saw terror flashed across her face. Her feet slipped on the crumbly rocks. They gave way, tumbling into the sea far below. But before she could make a lethal fall, he caught her coat and pulled her to safety.

 

“Dear God, that was a close one”, she mumbled, still clutching at him as they moved away from the edge.

 

The man stared at her intently, his hands on her shoulders, as if to make sure she was alright; realizing how close they were, she pulled from her companion and looked away. His gaze remained firmly on her.

 

“This is quite an amazing place”, she said, partly because it was true but mostly to divert his attention. 

 

He finally shifted his gaze to study their surrounds.

 

“Helen, what is the name of this place again?”

 

“We are in Iceland, _John_ ”, she answered, emphasizing his name as he had hers, “in a region called the Westfjords. This precise area is called Hornbjarg.”

 

Their eyes locked again. A slight grin played on his lips.

 

“You speak Icelandic?”

 

“Well no, not really but I like to know the name of the places I go to and as it happens, how to pronounce it.”

 

“Say it again.”

 

“What?”

 

“The name of this place. Say it again.”

 

“Hornbjarg”, Helen repeated, articulating each syllable. “You trill the two 'r', you say the 'j' like it's a 'y' and don't pronounce the 'g'. Easy.”

 

John's laugh rang out dully through the air as he took a step forward. He liked these little trips with her, when it was just the two of them. It reminded him of their countless escapades back when things were not so complicated - so painful. In those times all that mattered were those three words whispered in his ear when she was tired and wanted to go home. When, snuggled up against him, she waited for him to teleport them back to London.

 

 He was well aware that for her, it was _almost_ solely a matter of convenience and practicality; his ability allowed her to avoid the tedious process of conventional transportation and thus waste no time rescuing whatever abnormal she was trying to salvage.

 

 _Almost_.

 

There was still something in her that fed his hope. Something in her eyes or in the way she looked at him... He could not imagine how much he’d broken her heart but he could have sworn he saw that same longing of better times that he craved for in her eyes.

 

John could tell Helen was not particularly pleased to travel with him; how many times had he felt her irritation at being near him - at having to rely and entrust her life? He simply refused to let go of the past and to move on; and those jaunts of theirs tied him to stolen moments almost lost in the sands of time. They all remained vivid in his mind, no matter what she said or did. Instants, like seeing Helen's face lighting up with a smile as he tried to pronounce that bloody word were precious and rare, and each time he tried to engrave them in his mind. Memories... like a shaft of sunlight in the dark.

 

“You got it just right, John”, Helen said finally, still giggling. “Now let's find these abnormals. Shall we?”

 

John bent his head in agreement as Helen started drifting away from him, studying her surroundings for any sign of the beings they were looking for.

 

 The landscape was quite spectacular. On their right, a steep slope scooped down to the meadowed plateau where they stood and then flowed on down toward the sea. On their left another slope, steeper and way more impressive than the first, seemed intent on reaching the sky. It ended abruptly in a sheer cliff plunging into the cold, still water below.

 

 The razor-backed ridges of the bluffs were etched against the bleak sky, leaving this place devoid of human life and starkly desolate. Standing a short way back from Helen, John could take in the unreal landscape at his leisure before laying his eyes on his companion again. He watched her dark, wavy hair fall loosely on her shoulders and gently lift by the breeze - her body and its curves, beautifully emphasized by her leather outfit.

 

“I don't know how much time we'll have to wait”, Helen began, still turned away from him, “so we better make ourselves comfortable.”

 

Uttering those last words, she spun around before John could look away. Helen caught his eyes on her. Defiant, she held his gaze as he brushed aside the feelings written over his face.

 

“We should... do that”, he said in a faint voice, twisting his mouth in an apologetic smile.

 

It faded from his lips when he noticed the unusual way in which the mist billowed suddenly around them, descending like a blanket. Soon it had become a thick fog that engulfed the landscape, blurring the distant sea along with their immediate surroundings. John lost sight of Helen though they were only a few feet apart.

 

“Helen?” He called out, not daring to move in case she searched for him.

 

“I'm here, John”, answered her voice. Suddenly, there she was, walking out of the fog, one hand extended in front of her.

 

John reached out for it and their fingers intertwined. When she was near him, he expected her to let go but she didn't, instead tightening her hold.

 

“Do you know what's happening?” he asked, as the fog grew thicker.

 

“I have no idea. These creatures are really mysterious, and we don't know much about them. For all we know, this could be their way of welcoming us.”

 

“Or killing us.”

 

Helen threw him a sideways glance before peering into the fog, scanning it in search of a shadow, a figure - anything.

 

“The Finngálkin are peaceful creatures, John.”

 

“What do they look like?”

 

“Centaur; part horse, part man. The legend says that Icelandic abnormals come from _Hekla_ , the volcano believed to be an entrance to Hell.”

 

John winced.

 

“Hell? It doesn't ring well with ‘peaceful’ to me.”

 

Helen didn't answer. She could feel John’s tensed body next to hers, ready to pounce should something attack them. Their hands were still closely clasped and Helen suppressed a shiver.

 

 _It's cold_ , she thought, _colder than when we first arrived because of this bloody smog._ It had nothing to do with John's fingers interlaced with hers, she mentally added to herself, or his thumb tracing small – almost imperceptible – circles on her skin.

 

         As Helen felt like the dense fog was closing in on her to the point of chocking, a distant sound - muffled and ethereal - shattered the silence. It was like a horse neighing somewhere far off, but it originated from nowhere _and_ _everywhere_ at the same time. Amazed, she let go of John's hand and took several steps forward.

 

“Do you hear that?” she asked, spinning as she moved further from him.

 

“Helen, don't...”

 

His words trailed off when he realized the fog had completely engulfed her. No matter how loud he called her name, John received no answer. It was like the thick mist stifled his voice, making him feel caged and claustrophobic. For a moment he considered teleporting to find Helen, but without knowing exactly where she was and what was ahead of them, it was at _best_ a silly idea. So instead he waited. Seconds turned into minutes - time unbearably stretching in a deafening silence until a cry up ahead shattered it.

 

John wanted to run in the direction of the scream, but he was paralyzed. He realized that with a terror that settled in him like an insidious poison. His heart lurched as he struggled to move but something – _or was it someone?_ \- annihilated his will, making him helpless and useless. He couldn't stand that.

 

Calling her name one last time, he received no answer. John felt a flow of anger pouring through him. He didn't try to suppress it, letting it course through his veins instead, taking control of his entire being. The oppressive fog lessened his grip on him. Eyes wide, fists tightly clenched and heart hammering in his chest, John was waiting for the moment when this invisible hold weakened enough for him to step into the breach and free himself. 

 

At that precise moment John felt a change in the air. His body became incredibly heavy, as if someone was looking for a way to ground him more firmly to the earth. He suddenly became dizzy and groaned, his legs barely sustaining him. He was about to let himself slump over the grass when off to his left something happened.

 

Something really bad.

 

Helen Magnus emerged from the fog, walking precipitously backwards as if moving away from a thing she could not break eye contact with. She stumbled once and almost fell back. When she approached, despite still being several feet away, John observed her features distorted by fear. A feeling of helplessness swept over him again. He roared in frustration. What the hell was happening here?

 

He started yelling her name again and again, but quickly gave up when he realized she couldn’t hear him. His heart sank in his chest at the terrifying thought that if she kept backing away like this, she would soon reach the edge of the cliff and fall.

 

He couldn’t let that happen.

 

*

 

She couldn’t see it yet she knew it was there, just in front of her – purposely moving forward so that she’d back off. In other circumstances, Helen Magnus would have acted differently, she would have tried to talk to this abnormal, persuade the creature they were not a threat.

 

Right now, words and even thoughts were entangled in a maze of fear and panic. Only her legs seemed to obey some kind of outside force, driving her backwards while her mind stayed frozen, trapped in shell of ice. She couldn’t help but stare into the fog, at this ghostly silhouette looming through the mist before fading away as quickly as it had appeared - _threatening and determined to get rid of the intruders._

 

 

*

 

The silhouette suddenly materialized into a majestic centaur right in front of her and the neighing she and John had heard earlier resounded once more. It was eerie, as if it came from another world and had crossed the boundaries of time and space to echo in this one. Only now it was much louder and aggressive.

 

 Helen could do nothing more but gaze at the abnormal towering above her, mind paralyzed just like John’s - heart pounding so fast it beat in her hears like the flapping wings of some panic bird locked in a cage.

 

John didn’t hear anything. For him there was still this weight pining him down as he was desperately trying to stay on his feet, and the air thick and heavy, like all the oxygen had suddenly acquired texture and matter enough to chock him.

 

He watched Helen who had finally stopped moving.

 

*

 

 

The upper part of the abnormal's body was humanoid, but from his waist down it resembled a horse. The fair skin of the human part looked milky-white, almost glowing through the fog. The horse part was pitch black and seemed to glisten, offering a sharp contrast to the human skin. The face of the creature was stunning. It was as if someone had sliced through a piece of clay to shape his features; dark and wavy hair fell loosely to his shoulders, contrasting sharply with the whiteness of his skin. Blue eyes pierced through the mist like two incandescent gems and glared at Helen through luscious eyelashes; his full and smooth lips were the only thing softening the sternness emanating from his demeanor. The beauty and grandness of this creature struck Magnus despite her apathy and sent chills down her spine.

 

That was when the voice erupted in her head.

 

  It poured in her brain like a wave smashing everything standing on its path; the tone was furious, enraged, but Helen couldn't make a word out of it. It quickly dawned on her that it was a language not in her extensive repertoire...

 

 Helen raised her hands, covering her ears as she screamed in agony. She could not prevent the voice from booming and bouncing under her skull like some wild fire ball setting her mind ablaze. Soon the strain was too much on Helen's body and she fell on her knees, leaning on her hands. Her fingers gripped the grass and her nails dug deep into the loose earth as tears welled in her eyes. Her screams turned into wails and then, as quickly and violently as it had appeared, the voice was gone.

 

 A deafening silence filled Helen's mind. It was as if the whole world had suddenly come to stop, suspended and infinitely quiet. After so much noise and savage pain, the abrupt was almost impossible to bear.

 

For several seconds Magnus stayed prostrate, her breathing ragged and shallow, trying to regain control of her shaking body and to ease her pounding heart. Her senses returned gradually as her mind cleared away, allowing her to push on her feet and stand.

 

 The abnormal hadn't move and was still gazing at her, as if nothing had happened. Helen didn't doubt he was responsible for the Hell that was just unleashed within her head, though she didn't quite understand how. These creatures weren't known for their telepathic abilities...

 

_What are you doing here, human?_

 

 This time the voice was at a much decent volume, though still scathing and threatening. Startled by her ability to understand the Icelandic words, Helen cringed, then swallowed hard regain a composure.

 

“I - _we_ are here because we've received intel warning us that you and your kind might be in danger”, Helen offered, almost shouting to be sure the creature heard her.

 

 The centaur said nothing. Instead slightly he shifted his horse-like body and stamped the ground with its hooves. A surge of raw fear rose in Helen. If the abnormal was growing impatient, he might just decide to torture her again...

 

 Magnus fought back a sickening feeling of claustrophobia. She felt trapped, engulfed as she was in the fog with this creature that might just decide to kill her. Usually she kept her emotions under control and was not easily overwhelmed but this situation was rather unusual. The Finngálkinwere a peaceful race, as she told John, intent on preserving harmony amongst them and all other abnormals roaming Earth. That they made her suffer like they did was unsettling. Something was terribly wrong.

 

After a few moments spent in gathering her scattered thoughts, Magnus knew.

 

 _We're here because we think you might be in danger._   

 

 If the centaur was telepathic and was expecting her to think her answers instead of verbalizing them, she had better comply; she hoped the abnormal understood English.

 

 

  _We have no need of your help_ , came the reply. _You should not have come here. You are only making matters worse. You have to leave._

 

_Matters? What matters? Maybe we can help! Please, we are not here to threaten you or anything, we just-_

 

_ENOUGH!!_

 

 Helen winced and yelped when the voice once again tore through her mind.

 

_Leave. Now._

 

_*_

 

 

 

 The invisible weight pushing down on John had finally won over him. Lying on the ground, he felt like his body was just a bunch of tight knots, making him grunt in pain and fury.

 

 Helen had finally stopped screaming and was acting like she was talking to someone. The blinding rage boiling inside of John was hard to contain, heating his blood and churning throughout his entire body. His heart hammered so hard in his chest that his head was spinning. The urge to kill, to annihilate whoever or whatever had hurt Helen became an obsession clawing at him like a wild animal.

 

*

 

 

 It was one, then two, then dozens of horses and centaurs that appeared. They emerged from the fog, gathering around the first centaur in a circle; Helen realized that the neighing John and she had heard earlier came from one of them.

 

 Magnus cast an eye over the crowd of abnormals, taking in their majesty and their dignity. The horses were mainly black stallions, but there were also white and brown ones, their long manes floating freely in the light breeze.

 

The centaurs, with their human chests thrust out in pride and defiance, were holding Helen's gaze. Drowned in a sudden gush of amazement, her fear ebbed, bringing her on the verge of reality and teetering blindly towards a state of paralyzing awe. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, an alarm sounded.

 

 It was the stifling fog that snapped her out of her bewilderment. When the centaur had first appear it was nothing more that gentle puffs blurring her surroundings; now it seemed like it had somewhat agglomerate to form a much more thick and compact mist. Like fingers clamping her throat and squeezing, the fog slowly began to choke her. A hazy image flashed in Helen's mind, out of place and quickly erased by panic.

 

  _Somewhere deep in the Amazonian forest. 1898._

 

_The cries of the hundreds of animals hiding in the lush vegetation resound in the dead of the night._

 

_She lies on her bed, trying not to move, wearing only panties and bra. It's hot and her skin is damp and sticky. She can't fall asleep, she feels uncomfortable._

 

_Suddenly the air crackles and he's there, sitting astride her. She tries to scream, but he presses his hand against her lips. When he's sure she'll stay quiet, he removes his hand._

 

_He trails his fingers down her neck and she squirms. She knows it's no use calling for help. There's no one around. His weight pinions her on the bed._

 

_She feels his anger. He leans down, kisses her. His fingers stop stroking the sensitive skin of her neck, and instead close around it. And squeeze._

 

_She gasps, as her body starts fighting for air, thrashing wildly under his hand._

 

_But he doesn't stop._

 

  Helen wrapped her hand around her throat in a convulsive gesture, gasping in surprise. She could feel her pulse weakening as life was seeping out of her; black dots veiled her vision as oxygen deserted her body.

 

The first centaur moved towards Helen, the sound of his hooves hitting the ground echoing in Magnus’ head just like the neighing did a few minutes ago, in an uncanny and otherworldly way, like it was the only sound left in the world. Helen felt her mind escaping her control, slipping away once again along with the air in her lungs. Each of her breaths was nothing more than a wheezing now. With the last shreds of will power left in her, Helen tried to move her legs and pull away from the horde of abnormals and their ever-growing hold, but they quickly crushed the attempt. And once more, Helen found herself compelled to move back – the cliff approaching.

 

The centaur stayed right where he was. His face was as still as a stone, his brows only slightly furrowed, his mouth tightened into a hard line and his jaw clenched. He watched as Helen suffocated and desperately tried to suck in air, pulling away from him not from her own will, but from his.

 

 His will, and the will of hundreds of his peers, right behind him.

 

 The last thing Helen saw before the fog closed around the centaur was two piercing blue eyes, like two beacons hanging in the air. As the abnormal blinked, the small glimmering dots appeared and disappeared, until finally they were swallowed up by the mist.

 

 A cold, sick terror deluged Magnus. There was not an ounce of oxygen left in her anymore. Her lungs screamed for air while thoughts of imminent death and random images flooded her mind; her legs kept moving but she didn't feel them, like they were controlled by someone else.

 

And then, it all stopped.

 

 Helen was free. Her mind unfurled as the invisible hand around her throat released its hold; she gulped greedily at the oxygen, feeding her deprived lungs, feeling it dispersed throughout her body – in her bloodstream, her brain, in every muscle and nerve. The blackness that had clouded her vision receded. Her heart thumped so loud it sounded like thunder in her ears.

 

A wave of intense relief submerged Magnus. She was going to live after all. These abnormals only wanted to scare her off, nothing more, and nothing less.

 

As these reflections crossed Helen's mind, she finally regained control of her legs. It was already too late.

 

 As she took a final step backwards, Helen didn't immediately realize that her right foot, instead of touching solid ground, alighted on nothing. Carried away by her momentum, Magnus lost her balance; reality seemed to disintegrate like shattered glass. Nightmare crept in.

 

_This can't be real._

 

Gasping in shock, Helen felt herself fall.

 

_How...?_

 

 

 

_*_

 

His voice was hoarse from screaming.

 

 For a moment he had thought Helen might be safe. It had been like a light simmering somewhere in the corner of his mind, through the seething anger, telling him they might get out of this unharmed. But when Helen had started to act like she suffocated and then resumed her frenzied walk backwards, the hope had extinguished like a frail candle in a storm.

 

John was now persuaded Helen wouldn't stop and would make a lethal fall in the frigid waters of the Greenland Sea. He had begun shouting again, knowing it was useless since she couldn't hear him and was apparently under the influence of some unknown force... But that was all he could do. Shout to level out the rage.

 

Death wasn't something John was ready to let come near Helen. They had been living more time than any of them might have expected back in the nineteenth century; and even though Druitt knew he should have been thankful for all the extra time he could spend with the one and only woman he had ever truly loved, he just couldn't bear the idea of losing her. Every time a thought like that happened to get past the mental barriers he had carefully erected, he pushed it aside and locked it somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind.

 

Today he felt like these poisonous thoughts were pouring endlessly into his mind.

 

Then, as Helen neared the edge of the cliff, John suddenly knew what he had to do. He was going to use the only thing he had left right now. _Rage_.

 

 He just let it burst like floodwaters from a dam. It coursed through his veins quicker at each breath, just like the _sanguine vampiris_ had once done, changing him forever. His heart pummeled his chest so hard John fleetingly thought it might just break his ribs.

 

Out of control, the scorching fury wreaked havoc on John's mind, sweeping aside all other feelings. His lips twisted into a sick, sardonic smirk. He could feel the grip waning, slowly giving him back his strength and his freedom.

 

He had felt like he was the mouse and the abnormal was a snake curling up around its helpless victim… Now it was the other way around, the grip becoming like a tame animal under the assaults of John’s rage.

 

Within seconds, he was on his feet. He hardly noticed the crowd of abnormals on his right as he pounced forward, thrusting himself out into the remnants of fog still hanging in the air. When he realized that he couldn't teleport, he furiously stifled the voice in his head that told him he wouldn't get to her in time. He silently swore to kill whoever or whatever would get in _his_ way.

 

“For God’s sake, Helen!” he screamed as he was covering the distance separating them. “STOP!”

 

John was close enough to see relief flash across Helen’s face; in an instant, he noticed the way her stiff body relaxed and he knew the abnormals had relinquished control of her. When he realized she wasn’t going to stop in time, a sick feeling seeped into him, terror and hatred that made his heart lurched against his chest. Reality dissolved, making him feel dizzy again; he felt on the brink of insanity. His whole being was repelled by the thought of letting her die.

 

Helen toppled over the cliff’s edge, a black and solitary figure in the eerie whiteness and the thick silence. The few birds circling high in the sky were silent, as if expectant witnesses. John reached out, propelling himself, still willing his body to teleport; each of his cells seemed to writhe and to scream in agonizing anger and frustration.

 

John's fingers closed on nothing more but air. He yelled her name, his voice echoing like thunder in the stillness and emptiness, his mind barely registering that Helen was falling. For a second, time was frozen and she was hanging above the void, her body standing out against the greyness of the sea below. The wind was hissing in John's ears like a lament.

 

It took him only one second to make the decision. Once it had settled into his mind, something – common sense or maybe fear – revolted against it. But this instant’s hesitation was quickly wiped away, as his body _knew_ that this was the only solution, the only way to save Helen.

 

It was all a matter of steps.

 

One.

 

Two.

 

Three.

 

John threw himself off the cliff, screaming inside his own mind as gravity pulled him downwards and his stomach mimicked his fall.

 

His breath caught in his throat as his heart seemed to stop.

 

He'd become only a dead weight, helpless, cutting through the freezing air and bound to hit the water with such force he’d probably die instantly.

 

*

 

 

In the few seconds that it lasted, Helen's mind was nothing more than a kaleidoscope of images and feelings, melting and crashing in her brain. There was nothing she could do, nothing she could hold on to. Everything was out of control, everything was... unreal.

 

_Wake up... This is not real... DO SOMETHING!_

 

_John?_

 

*

 

 

He had to teleport. He wasn't going to get to her in time, he wasn’t falling fast enough.

 

_Teleport. Teleport!! BLOODY HELL, TELEPORT NOW!!_

 

The control the abnormals still exerted on his ability vanished. Relief flashed in him as he felt his whole body dissolve, becoming merely matter being transported through space, from one point to another. From danger, to safety. From death, to life.

 

*

 

She could feel the water now, just a few feet below. The cold, freezing liquid. She closed her eyes. Waited for death to welcome her.

 

*

 

He reappeared right on top of her. The sea was close now, he could smell the salt, taste it on his tongue. His arms closed around her, his legs encircling hers in an embrace that could save them both.

 

The water was there, opening its frigid arms, ready to engulf them.

 

John closed his eyes, willing his body to teleport once again. Begging his cells to comply and get them out of here.

 

They disappeared in a crackle.

 

 

*

 

John and Helen rolled on her office's floor, their bodies still entwined. He was holding her tight and when they stopped, his thighs pressed against hers and her head resting on his chest, John allowed himself to feel thankful, thankful for the solid wooden floor beneath him. Little by little, the fear that had clouded his mind cleared away; his heart settled in his chest, his breathing became less erratic, more even. He looked at the ceiling for a few seconds, reconnecting with reality. They had made it.

 

Then John's mind turned to Helen. The feeling of her body nestled up against him, weighing on him and pinning him to the floor unlocked a memory from times long gone, but not forgotten...

 

_Her naked flesh grinding against his, pleasure surging through him, blazing like a fire he didn't want to be extinguished. Ever. Her hair brushing against his face while he nuzzled her neck, his fingers digging harshly into her skin. He whispered her name in her ear, felt her shiver, begged her to move faster. Her mouth came crashing on his and he swallowed her moans..._

 

John felt Helen stir and he released his hold a little, waiting for her to come back to him. She had to pass out at some point, he had been about to himself... He listened to her rapid, shallow, panicked breathing as she slowly regained consciousness and struggled to determine where she was.

 

“You're safe now,” John murmured, gently stroking her back.

“Where...” she croaked, raising her head a little.

“We're in your office, at the Sanctuary.”

“I was... falling...”

“You were, but I managed to teleport and get you back to safety. It's okay now Helen.”

 

Her eyes finally met his, and he smiled, hoping to make her haunted and terrified look go away. It worked, somehow, Helen even managing a small smile of her own.

 

“Why... here? Why not closer to where we were?”

“First thing that came to my mind was this office. Sorry.”

 

She could tell that he wasn't. How could she blame him? As much as she wanted to get in contact with these abnormals, she was glad to be here and not drowning in the Greenland Sea.

 

John raised his hands and slowly brushed aside the locks of hair across Helen's face. She didn't say anything, watching him as he tucked stray strands behind her ear. She was all too aware of their intimate position, but she didn't move. Instead, she just allowed in her the feelings that had been creeping up in the back of her mind from the moment she had realized how he was holding her. It felt good and she needed that.

 

“Thank you, John.”

 

He smiled again.

“You're most welcome.”

“So you just... what. Jumped from this bloody cliff? That's what you did?

 

Her tone wasn't reproachful, only slightly inquisitive, though her question was clearly rhetorical.

 

“Well yes, I did. I couldn't teleport earlier.

“You're such a fool, John. What if you hadn't been able to teleport _at all_?

“I guess we would both be dead by now.”

 

A look of shock flashed across Helen's face, replaced by... anger? John expected her next question and didn't let her ask it.

 

“If you're not in this world Helen, then I don't want it.”

 

She seemed to let his words sink in for a moment.

 

“Bloody hell.”

 

Putting both her hands on the floor, on either side of his shoulders, Helen pushed herself away from him, kneeling between his legs and then standing up. The room started to swirl as black dots blinded her for a moment, the oxygen being squeezed out of her lungs. Helen swayed, reaching out for something to hold on to. In the blink of an eye, John was near her.

 

“You should take it easy”, he warned, as she gripped his upper arms tightly while his hands came to rest on her shoulder and waist.

“I'm... fine,” Helen mumbled, inhaling sharply.

 

Her surroundings finally settled and she looked up to him.

 

“Thanks. Again.”

 

He just smiled, hoping that this time she wouldn't break contact. Being near her without being able to touch her was a torture, like poking in a bleeding wound that couldn't heal. But the mere thought of not seeing her was worse, much worse, and he'd rather touch her with his eyes that not at all.

 

“We should... do something, about these abnormals. Investigate. You know.”

“Yes.”

 

John waited for her to pull away, but she didn't.

 

Instead, Helen stepped forward and, slowly, slid her arms under his while her head came to rest on his shoulder, her cheek grazing the line of his jaw as she did so.

 

John dived into her embrace, inhaling her scent, his face buried in her hair.


End file.
